


All-In

by AlmightyBubs



Category: Original Work
Genre: A lot of them - Freeform, Action, Daddy Issues, Drama, Gen, One Shot, Rivals, Superheroes, Supervillains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27255496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmightyBubs/pseuds/AlmightyBubs
Summary: The son of a high-profile supervillain arranges a meeting with the son of the city's most famous hero. What happens when they realize neither takes after their fathers?AKA a bite-sized one shot written entirely to sate my superhero mood. Might write more in the future, who knows, probably not.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	All-In

Charlie’s afternoon begins and ends with an e-mail. 

There are moments that carry a certain weight around them. The ones that make the air heavy, that blur the edges of his gaze, that fill his lungs with excitement and leave every breath a near-choke. 

Moments like this, which begin with “ _Dear Charles”_ and end with “ _Yours truly, Colton Blake_.”

The name runs up his spine like a chill. Once he’d read those two lines, the rest of the message grows distorted, losing its meaning to become a meaningless jumble of words and letters until every sentence makes his head throb just by looking at it. Slumped in his chair, his fingers hover over the keyboard, frozen in place as the large screen’s soft blue hue stops him like a deer in headlights. 

This is so much more than an e-mail; It's trouble, and trouble means a gamble; cost, risk, reward, as much a game of chances as one of calculations. Little by little, Charlie pieces together what he knows with what the message reveals. 

Cost—a meeting in person with Colton Blake, son of Norman Blake, the secret identity of Blitzwolf. 

Risk—another of his father’s punishments, likely community service again. He’s never been one for innovations, unlike Charlie. 

Reward—more important than anything else, the precious sating of his curiosity, because Charlie knows it’ll otherwise eat him alive. Colton wants a meeting with him, which in turn means a scheme, a deal, a quid-pro-quo. Maybe something better. Maybe something worse. The possibilities slim down with each iteration, yet remain as expansive as the ocean. 

Maybe it’s more than all of those. Maybe it’s a chance. A way to show his heroic annoyance of a father that not everyone in the family was born to fulfill the same selfless duties, a way to prove himself more than capable of following his own path.

Before the clarity can go away, Charlie types _I accept,_ and then allows a smile to reach his lips. How could he not?

The son of the most famous villain in West Hillbrook arranges a secret meeting with the son of its famous superhero, and all he can think about is what to wear. It’ll take time.

* * *

“This isn’t a trap, Thompson,” Colton says, arms crossed. To his credit, he seems to have taken longer with his outfit than Charlie would’ve thought. Colton wears a small domino mask, a hood over his head, and a red and black spandex suit that covers the rest of his body. An unexpected choice, but one that fed intrigue. 

“Never said it was,” Charlie shoots back, hiding his hands inside the pockets of his trench coat as he averts the other boy’s piercing gaze. The two of them stand in the center of an abandoned warehouse near the docks, certainly not the most glamorous place, but secrecy was hard enough to come by to complain. 

“Then call off your bots and pay attention, because I’m only going to say this _once_.” The toughness of his tone hits Charlie on his stomach—Colton’s serious. This isn’t like their last few encounters, usually in the middle of disputes between their fathers, where all they could do was cheer from the sidelines as blows were traded and, more often than not, the day was saved. 

For one, it _is_ the first time Charlie has seen him in a proper costume, though with a father like Blitzwolf, it had only been a matter of time. It’s been a year or two since they've last met, but the boy’s form seems a little wider as well, firm where it needs to be. The product of training. 

Out of caution, then, Charlie does as he says. Once his arms are open wide, three small metal gizmos jump out the shadows and into his hands, slithering into his sleeves and out of sight. “Happy now?”

“Overjoyed,” Colton states without missing a beat, pulling out a stack of photographs from his back. “Now—”

Worry widens Charlie’s gaze. “Where were you _keeping_ those, Colt?”

Colton holds the photographs before him, offering them. “That’s not—”

“Listen, you are wearing _spandex_ . Spandex does not have pockets. Either you pulled them out of some sort of portal, _or—_ ”

“My suit has pockets!” Colton snaps, almost crushing the photographs as his hands tense under the weight of anger. “Shut up. Please. Take these and shut up.”

Charlie huffs as he takes them from the boy’s hand. A single glance is enough to crush the insides of his lungs. A lurking figure in the shadows of the museum’s science room. A burglar in a mouth mask and goggles, pulling stacks of money from inside a vault into his bag, and then once again standing atop a floating platform before a window to the 47th floor of an Ashwin Co. building. 

All of them are himself, of course, moments before stealing whatever he was after at the time. 

“How…” The sound leaves his throat like a ragged breath, but it’s all he can find as his distressed gaze bounces from the pictures to the other boy’s hidden eyes. “How?”

“Doesn’t matter, because you’ll quit.” Colton crossed his arms. “Give back the Arctic Sapphire, Mr. Ashwin’s holodrone, and the money.”

For a supposed villain, Charlie feels more surprised than threatened. “...Or?” He arches an eyebrow. 

Colton’s hands ball into fists as he draws one leg behind the other, assuming a fighting stance, one arm before his body and the other beside his head. “Or I’ll be forced to stop you,” he sneers. “ _Criminal_.”

“Cri-criminal?!” Charlie stammers, taking a step back as he points to the boy. “Your father is Blitzwolf! What are you talking about?”

“And yours is Valiant, yet here you stand, a thief and a liar.” Despite his constant stern frown, Colton snickers. “Guess neither of us take after our fathers.”

“Hold on now a second, _thief_ ?” Charlie tosses the photos onto the floor before them. “I robbed the most _well-guarded_ bank in the entire city, swiped the most valuable gemstone in this continent from under a thousand sensors, not to mention that stupid holodrone!” Charlie scoffs. “You wanna call me a thief? No sir, I think the word you’re looking for is _villain_.”

“Then it’s a fight you’re looking for? I’ve got no problem with that either, _villain_.”

Colton doesn’t waste a moment before charging towards him, the very same time it takes Charlie to realize this just might be his first fight against a superhero. Not a proper hero, maybe, but one nonetheless. 

Charlie dodges the first punch with a quick twist of his body, but the second catches him in the shoulder with a burst of pain. Before he knows it, Colton has his leg up in the air and the boy’s foot slams against the center of his chest, throwing him back and down to the floor.

“ _Ow…_ ” Charlie groans. He’s pretty sure there’s something wrong with his shoulder, but he also knows that in the heat of the moment, injuries like this are like the stupid theory with the cat in the box and the poison—nothing bad to be found so as long as he doesn’t acknowledge it. His chest feels a little numb still, but this isn’t a fight won with jabs and kicks. Not against the son of _Blitzwolf_. What he needs is time. “So what, you’re a hero now?” he winces, sitting up on the floor as Colton looms over him, though Charlie slowly hides his hands behind his back, letting all the metallic creepy crawlies he’d brought disperse back down his sleeves and into the shadows. “Daddy won’t be happy when he finds out, Colt!” 

“ _Bloodhound_.” 

Charlie has never heard a single word so utterly cold it could freeze an entire ocean.

“Call me Bloodhound,” Colton repeats, cracking his knuckles. 

“Bloodhound?” Charlie asks, suddenly taken aback, though his lips quickly shift into a smile. “Are you serious, _you’re_ Bloodhound? I’ve actually heard about you on my forums! Some people say you left quite a mark on them; I’m impressed. Should I tell them I know exactly who to blame for that?”

“You won’t be saying a thing if you don’t want me to tell your father about your little escapades.” To his surprise, Colton’s expression is marred by _offense_. “How could you betray him like this?”

Though his intentions were already only to buy himself time, once that twinge of anger sets roots inside of him, Charlie can’t help but let it grow. “ _Betray_ him? Don’t pretend you know anything about my dad just because you see him on TV every now and then.”

“Your father saves people. I know deep in my heart that he`s a man of honor.” Colton takes a step forward. “You could’ve been a hero like him. Could’ve done something good with your life. Do you know just how much I would’ve given to be in your spot?”

And inside his chest, all that welled-up pain cracks like glass, one touch away from caving in. First, Charlie stands up, his expression stiff, frozen in sorrow, an act that makes Colton flinch back into a fighting stance. “You want to know why I’m not a hero? Maybe try asking him sometime. Ask him why he never gave me a suit like he did for my siblings. Ask him why he pushed five different martial arts on me ever since I was a kid if he wasn’t ready for me to fail. And then, even _then_ Colt, I still won’t deny it—I _am_ luckier than you. You know why?”

Colton doesn’t reply, just narrows his eyes and clenches his fists tighter.

“Because you’re not good at being a hero _or_ a villain, and I can’t say the same about me.” His lips shift into a grin. “Activate: Snare!” 

Before Colton’s subsequent punch can reach him, a disjointed mass of metal wraps itself around both of his ankles and then pulls him back, dropping his body to the floor before the small robot shoots a hook towards the warehouse’s ceiling and zips up into the air, carrying an upside-down Colton with it. It raises him just high enough that their eyes are still levelled, though now his hood has fallen away, revealing his short and surprisingly stylish dark hair.

“Well, well, well,” Charlie chuckles. 

“Only natural for a coward to avoid fights,” Colton says, hanging surprisingly limp with his arms almost touching the dirty floor. “Feel free to run off, but don’t be surprised when those pictures end up in Valiant’s inbox.”

Charlie has to walk to keep up with the boy’s slow rotation. “Nah, we’re not done. You got some dirt on me, only fair I get some dirt on you too. Why the hell are you a hero?”

Something flashes past his face, but it’s gone as quick as it appeared. “It’s none of your business.”

“You had like, the _best_ teacher for being a good villain right _there_ your entire life and you really wasted him?!”

Colton swallows, but no answer follows it.

“Fine. I get it. Not a _words_ kind of person. How about we make a new deal, huh? As unbelievable as it sounds, I’ll keep my mouth shut re: this whole Bloodhound thing. I don’t care. In return, you very kindly delete those pictures of me. Sounds good?”

Colton hesitates for a second before muttering, “Deal.”

“Fantastic,” Charlie smiles before turning his back. “Deactivate: Snare.”

He hears the metal clamp release and then, rather than an inelegant fall, a series of hurried steps comes. Approaching.

Charlie flips around just in time to block another of Colton’s kicks to the side. “I let you surprise me once,” he says as the boy recovers his balance. “It won’t happen again.”

Beneath the hood, Charlie spots a rare smile out of Colton. “ _Good_.” 

So much for no blows and kicks.

The flame of battle once again sparks his veins with life, reducing the world to him, Colton, and the space between them. This time, when the blows come, Charlie has the focus to match them with his own. His mind may have forgotten, but his body hasn’t, and the moves come to him before he even knows he’s used them.

His hands bat away Colton’s punches moments before impact, his feet carefully weaving his path back to an invisible rhythm, the tune of his heartbeat. Colton still manages to hit him when his guard is down, but Charlie hasn’t gone on the offensive yet.

“You’re not bad for someone who failed,” Colton pants.

“Funny, ‘cause I was thinking the opposite.” Once again, a smile takes over his face. “You’re pretty bad for someone who actually trained for this.” 

He waits until Colton’s barrage has put him nearly against the wall, and then Charlie sees it—his father called it the _gambit_ , but Charlie prefers _all-in_. 

It starts when Colton reels his right fist farther than before. He’s out of moves. He’s trying to end this. The perfect time to fight fire with fire. 

In response, Charlie pulls the full weight of his body into his hand and shoots it at the boy’s stomach at the same time as he prepares to grip the incoming strike.

Only he’s not used to fighting spandex.

Colton’s forearm slips past his fingers.

Liquid pain explodes in the middle of his face at the same time as his fist pushes deep into Colton’s midriff.

As Charlie crashes against the wall, muscles flaring with pain all over, Colton staggers back and falls to his hands and knees, one clutching his nose, the other his stomach.

For a moment, silence is broken only by the sounds of their weakness, in the quiet sniffling, the coughing gasps for air, the low groaning of pain impossible to hold back.

They’re both alone, but Charlie finds some comfort in not being the only one trying to hide away tears. His nose _definitely_ doesn’t feel right, from his father’s old lessons, probably broken. His arms are sore and too heavy to lift. 

“H-Happy now?” he stammers, but he figures Colton is too busy coughing to respond.

To his surprise, the boy’s breaths steady themselves. “Keep your deal,” he says, each syllable as short as he can make it, lifting his head just enough to face Charlie. “I won’t talk. You won’t t-talk.”

There’s a difference to his tone, before serious and calculated, now just short of pleading.

Above all, it pains Charlie the most that he can’t exploit it, because he feels the same. This isn’t a deal he can pass on, not if he wants to stay home and away from juvie. Mutually assured destruction doesn’t sound that pleasant when you actually value your own life.

After Charlie nods, it takes only a couple of slow blinks for Colton to vanish out of the warehouse altogether.

He tries to sigh with relief, only to be met with the intense pain of a bleeding nose.

It’s going to be a long walk home.

* * *

Charlie takes his time with keeping up appearances, pops by a public bathroom to wash away the blood, but still arrives home early enough that his father hasn’t yet returned.

His mom is huddled on the couch with a blanket and both dogs next to her, asleep. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him coming in through the front door. “Charlie! How was the party?”

Charlie barely catches the lie he’d spun himself earlier in time for a response. “Alcohol-free,” he laughs, hanging his trench coat by the door. “Before you ask, no, no girls, no boys, didn’t smooch anyone.”

“Only after marriage!” she beams. 

“Only after marriage,” he echoes, sitting down on the couch beside her, leaning his body on hers.

He knows something wicked this way comes when he feels her hand on his shoulder. “Listen, Charlie, I know things aren’t the best between you and your father right now, but I just want you to know he wants what’s best for you,”

The words sting, not only because they come from her, but also from whiplash. He has to shed every expectation of a pleasant evening before replying, “You don’t have to defend him,” 

“I’m not _defending_ him, I just want you two to be happy.”

“I’m quite happy, from a distance.” Despite her pull, he stands back up to move towards the stairs on the hallway out of the room.

“Charlie, please, it won’t be very long until he’s back from patrol, do you have anything you want to say to him?” she asks, now free of a smile. “Anything I could say for you?”

Charlie stops on the doorway for a second, allowing it a single moment’s thought.

“Tell him we’re out of bagels.”

If she’s content with his answer, she doesn’t say it. 

Charlie’s morning surprises him by starting not with the intrusion of sunlight or regret, but with a text message, one that starts with “ _Dear Charles”_ and ends with “ _Sincerely, Colton Blake.”_

There aren’t many words in-between. 

“ _I think you might have noticed we’re an even match. If our relationship is doomed by blackmail, we might as well try learning from each other. You teach me what your father taught you. I’ll teach you what mine taught me. We don’t need to be enemies, despite history.”_

And Charlie can only laugh, because this whole situation has just gotten a lot more complicated. The way he likes it best. Maybe he can finally unravel just how _Colton Blake_ of all people became a vigilante. Doesn’t hurt to pick up a thing or two on the way.

“ _Next week,_ ” he types, “ _same place, same time?_ ”

It’s an excruciating amount of anxiety for such a short wait, but Colton doesn’t take a minute before replying, “ _I will see you then_.”


End file.
